


Black charcoal and white paper

by elletromil



Series: Nevermore alone [1]
Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Drawing, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 12:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17304830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: As Poe watches his first client in far too long sleep on the bed of his best suite, he wishes he had picked up drawing as a hobby.~Kovacs isn’t an artist. But there’s only so much to do on a spaceship.





	Black charcoal and white paper

**Author's Note:**

> 1st day of a 30 days of OTP challenge I've decided to try my hand out with this pairing :)
> 
> The prompt for this one was 'Drawing each other'
> 
> They'll all be set in the Nevermore alone verse, but depending on where inspiration will take me, I'm pretty sure i won't be writing them in chronological order. But if you want to read them in chronological order, the series will be kept so.

Even if Poe puts on a good front, forty-seven years is still a long time to spend alone without any new clients to care for.

Even if time doesn't hold quite the same meaning to him as it does to humans, he still notices its slow passage. It was especially true the first decade, when he still hoped for the return of costumers, but to no avail. He kept busy by making sure his hotel is up to his exacting standards, the ones he kept updating to match the desires of every new guests.

But without his attention diverted by the well-being of one of said guests, there is not much left for him to do after a while.

The silence is inescapable and even if he knows it to be false, it still feels like it's sucking the life right out of him.

He picks up hobbies for two reasons.

The first is simple. If he wants to keep his sanity intact, he has to fill the emptiness around with something.  _Anything._

The second is more practical. This is still a very human world and money is what makes it turn. He could convert the hotel like many of his peers have been talking about doing for their own establishment, but he'd rather not. The hotel is part of who he is. Changing it means giving up.

And Poe isn't one to give up.

So he starts writing. He gets published. He pays the bills.

It's all little things, articles and short stories, nothing that garners much attention. At least not enough for people to get curious and try to find out who he really is behind his pen name.

He thought he'd be disappointed, but instead he's relieved. He's the proprietor of a hotel. Not a world famous writer. Finding fame there would have been another form of giving up.

It's only natural for him to pick up calligraphy next. That one is just for him however, quotes that resonates within him and that he always wants with him.

But as he watches his first client in far too long sleep on the bed of his best suite, he wishes he had picked up drawing instead.

He's dabbled of course over the course of the decades he spent in solitude, but not enough to possess the skills required to do the man any justice.

That and he doesn't have the necessary supplies on hand either. Paper is not exactly easy to come by anymore, especially when one cannot justify the expanse. It's even more true with charcoal.

He could use another medium, but there is something compellingly intimate in the act of drawing someone in charcoal. There's an itch to touch Kovacs’ form in his fingers he knows wouldn't be welcomed but that could be appeased if he were to smear the lines of his body on a page. Poe has an inkling that it's in the shadows that he's to learned who Kovacs truly is.

And he feels like he's never wanted anything more than this. Yes, AIs are hardwired to want clients, but Kovacs is already his guest. If the dead mercenaries followed by the police haven't chase him away, Poe cannot think of anything that will.

The curiosity he feels now is different. It might be because Kovacs’ arrival has been preceded by such a long period of isolation. It's possible but doubtful. If Poe were to truly hazard a guess, it has probably more to do with how enigmatic Kovacs is.

Poe has always loved a good mystery.

In the end, he contents himself with nonsensical doodles on the margin of a scrap of paper with his fountain pen.

It is not at all satisfying, but it will have to do for now.

And with a new client, especially one such as Kovacs who doesn’t seem to mind spending all the money that has been made available to him, there’s nothing to stop Poe from ordering some art supplies for himself.

*

Kovacs isn’t an artist. But there’s only so much to do on a spaceship. Especially with his only companion asleep right next to him.

Drawing a male figure is new for him. There is a sharpness where he is used to see curves. It’s not bad though.

Anyway, with artistic skills like his, it doesn’t make a difference. It’s hard to recognize the drawing as a body. Telling its gender is next to impossible.

“I thought watching someone sleep fell in the stalker category?” He doesn’t startles when Poe breaks the silence. He knew the AI was waking up even before his breathing started to change pattern.

He grunts and Poe cracks an eye open to observe him for a moment before stretching like a fat cat. There’s no elegance to it, just laziness and contentment. Kovacs feels about the same, his body pleasantly sore like he only gets after being fucked good.

Poe doesn’t get up after however, doesn’t even sit up. He just lays there in front of Kovacs, naked. Kovacs is slightly surprised that Poe doesn’t look uncomfortable in the least or isn’t at least trying to hide the lower portion of his body with the blanket. Not that Poe is prude. Just…  _proper_.

But then again, Poe would be one to find offering himself to his lover gaze or some other romantic nonsense like this to be proper. Kovacs doesn’t care one way or another. The lines on his page barely resemble anything human anyway. He frowns when he realises that somehow, what should be Poe’s portrait has acquired a third leg at some point.

“Far from me to distract you from your artistic endeavours,” an absolute lie, judging from Poe’s grin, “but considering your expression, maybe a break would be in order? I’d be amenable to a fifth round, if you’re up to it.”

In no time, the sketch book and pen are chucked behind him. Nothing will be _getting up_ on his end this time around, but that doesn’t mean there’s no fun to be had. And it will make the time go faster than trying to draw anyway.


End file.
